Path of Beasts

by Lian Tanner

  But although the snotties screamed and cried, they didn’t know the street-fighting tricks that Pounce knew, and they were quickly chained to the seats of the rig.

  Their parents were so shocked that they hardly protested. Men and women stood frozen, with their hands outstretched and their mouths open, as if someone had given them the evil eye and they could not move or speak.

  “What’s wrong with yez?” muttered Pounce. “If anyone tried this sorta nonsense in Spoke there’d be blood on the streets by now!”

  But there was to be no blood on the streets of Jewel. It wasn’t until the rig drove away, with the snotties wailing and the mercenaries marching beside them, that the spell was broken. Even then the parents hardly made a sound. They ran after the rig, crying silently and holding each other upright. Some of them staggered, as if the road were crumbling beneath their feet.

  Pounce couldn’t bear it. He shoved the last bit of pastry in his mouth and hurried away, shaking his head and muttering, “Poor soft idjits. They need someone to ’elp ’em. Someone who knows ’ow to fight. Now, if it was me up against them mercenaries—”

  He realized what he was saying and laughed at himself. Who was the soft one now? Of course they needed someone to help them. But it wouldn’t be Pounce.

  “Nah,” he said. “ I’m not stupid enough to go against Harrow. Not me.”

  He looked over his shoulder at the weeping parents and felt an unfamiliar pain in his chest. “Not me,” he said. But this time his voice was less certain. “Nah, not me.”

  A few carefully placed rumors

  "Princess Frisia’s memories have been inside me all along,” whispered Goldie. “And her voice. But this time it was different. I was there. I was back in ancient Merne. I was Frisia!”

  It was a relief to confess her secret to someone, even if that someone was unconscious and couldn’t hear her. The rightful Protector of the city of Jewel lay in a narrow bed, with only her head and one arm showing above the quilt. Olga Ciavolga was right—the Protector’s color was better. But her eyes were closed, her hair was lank and her face was far too thin.

  “Maybe Herro Dan was right after all,” whispered Goldie. “Maybe I’m going mad. Maybe I’ll find myself, one dark night, slitting throats and cutting off ears, and thinking it a perfectly normal thing to do!”

  She shuddered at the thought. As if in response, the Protector’s breathing grew quick and shallow.

  Goldie felt a pang of sympathy. “I wish you’d wake up,” she whispered, and she squeezed the Protector’s limp fingers.

  The fingers squeezed back. Goldie jumped, but there was no further movement from the woman in the bed—except for a faint smile that lay across her face like a blessing.

  Goldie sighed, knowing that she could hide away no longer. She must tell Olga Ciavolga that the Protector was showing signs of waking. She must apologize properly to Herro Dan and invent some excuse for her rudeness.

  And she must talk to Toadspit about the third strike.

  She found Toadspit in the room called Stony Heart, practicing his swordplay. Bonnie and the cat were watching him, surrounded by suits of armor and skeletons. Above their heads, an iron mantrap ground its teeth in uneasy sleep.

  Goldie had known that Toadspit was keeping up his practice, but this was the first time she had seen it. She stopped just inside the door and watched curiously as he stepped back and forth between the skeletons, his shoes thumping on the floor, his face a scowl of concentration.

  Lunge, strike, parry. Sidestep. Lunge, strike, strike. Block. Counterstrike.

  The moves were so familiar that Goldie could feel them in her bones, and in the muscles of her legs and arms. As if she was still Princess Frisia . . .

  “Is that Graf von Nagel you’re fighting?” said Bonnie. “Did you kill him? Hooraaaaay! We win!”

  Toadspit grinned over his shoulder. Then he saw Goldie and his face became a sudden, careful mask.

  But before he could say anything, Sinew loped into the room, his eyes gleaming, his harp strings singing a triplet of notes. “You were right, Goldie! The Protector is awake at last! And—” His tone was that of someone reporting a great military victory. “And she has eaten some soup!”

  “Hooray!” said Bonnie. “Is she going to help us fight the Fugleman?”

  “I expect so,” said Sinew in a more normal voice. “But perhaps we should give her a little more time. After all, she didn’t actually hold the soup spoon herself. She might have trouble with armed combat for a few days yet.”

  Toadspit laughed. Sinew played another triplet on the harp. “But that’s not the only news,” he said. “Broo has killed a rat in the Tench.”

  Bonnie pulled a face.

  “Diseased?” asked Toadspit.

  “I don’t think so,” said Sinew. “The museum has been quieter since the Fugleman started hunting elsewhere for the

  Hidden Rock—”

  “Harrooooow,” muttered the cat in disgusted tones. “—but it has given me an idea. Yesterday, Bonnie warned

  the mercenaries and the Guardians about plague.” “They were scared,” said Bonnie, beaming at Goldie. “The

  Fugleman said it wasn’t true, but everyone got really jumpy

  all of a sudden.”

  “And a few carefully placed rumors,” said Sinew, “should

  make them even jumpier. So I’m going down to the city

  again—”

  “Can I go with you?” Bonnie interrupted him.

  “Aren’t you and the cat supposed to be guarding the front

  door?” asked Toadspit. “In case the Fugleman comes back?” “He won’t come back. We’ve been out there since breakfast and no one’s been near us. I’m bored. So’s the cat. Aren’t

  you, cat?”

  “Noooo,” said the cat.

  “Yes, you are! We want to do something different! Something interesting!”

  “Unfortunately,” said Sinew, “your brother is right—” “Her brother is always right,” said Toadspit.

  Bonnie hit him.

  “We really do need you on the front door,” said Goldie, speaking for the first time. “I know it’s boring, but it’s important. The Fugleman might come back today or tomorrow or next week, and the museum has to look as silly and helpless as possible.”

  “That’s me, is it?” Bonnie put her hands on her hips. “Silly and helpless?”

  “No, but—”

  “So from now on you and Toadspit get to do all the interesting stuff while I stand out the front of the museum looking silly? It’s not fair!”

  “Of course it’s not,” said Sinew gently. “None of it is fair, Bonnie. But at times like this we each do what we must.” He pulled a wry face. “I suspect that before this is over we’ll all be very sick of interesting stuff. Even you.”

  Bonnie sniffed, unconvinced. “Come on, cat,” she said. “Let’s go and be silly and helpless while the important people here get on with saving the world.”

  “Prrrroud,” murmured the cat. And, with its nose in the air, it followed Bonnie out to the front steps.

  Sinew left not long after, trailing a string of notes behind him. Goldie eyed Toadspit. Now that they were alone, she was sure he would confront her over what had happened at breakfast.

  But instead, he said, “You realize the next payment will be so closely guarded that we won’t get near it?”

  Goldie nodded, relieved. “If I was the Fugleman, I’d break the pattern now. He wants to catch the Hidden Rock, but it’s even more important that the mercenaries get paid.” In the back of her mind, Frisia began to whisper. Goldie felt an awful slipping sensation, and suddenly she was—

  —standing on a hill overlooking a battlefield, with her father the king beside her, discussing strategy. “If the enemy changes direction,” said the king, “then you must change direction also, and reach his destination before him.”

  Below them, six thousand fighting men wheeled and turned in answer to the trumpets—
>
  And then Goldie was back in the museum with her legs shivering like grass in the wind.

  It’s happened again, she thought, and her stomach churned. She tried to remember what she had been saying a moment ago. “So—so—so we’ll break the pattern too. We—we’re going to need Morg’s help. Where is Morg? Do you think she’s strong enough to carry a grappling iron? She wouldn’t have to carry it far; maybe we could find a small one.”

  She knew she was gabbling, but she couldn’t help it; she was so afraid Toadspit would realize the truth. “Where can we get some lead?” she said. “Perhaps there’ll be some in Early Settlers; let’s go and see.”

  Fortunately for Goldie, there was a lot to do before the third strike, and Toadspit was soon distracted. The two children scoured the back rooms of the museum for the things they needed, watching out for rats all the while. But Sinew had been right when he said things were quiet, and they saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  There was one shift, which came just as they were melting lead piping in a tin over a fire and pouring it into molds. But the rooms settled quickly, although a few of the molds were ruined and had to be done again.

  They saw Broo several times, dashing through the long corridors in his little dog shape, his white coat plastered with mud and a look of sheer joy on his face. By then, Goldie was so caught up in their preparations that she had let down her guard.

  So when Toadspit said innocently, “I’ve never seen Broo hate another creature as much as he hates that cat”, she merely nodded and murmured, “Mm, mortal enemies.”

  The innocence vanished from Toadspit’s voice. “Like Princess Frisia and Graf von Nagel?”

  Goldie went very still. “Why did you say that?”

  “No reason.”

  “You must’ve had a reason!”

  “Maybe,” said Toadspit, turning to stare at her, “I was wondering why you never talk about what happened in ancient Merne. Bonnie’s always going on about it—”

  “Bonnie’s ten.”

  “—and I talk about it a bit too. But you never do, and when—”

  “There’s a lot of other things happening, in case you hadn’t noticed! Like our city being overrun! And a war to be fought!”

  “—and when someone mentions it, you act as if you’ve been ambushed. Like now.”

  Goldie blinked at him with her mouth open. “Um—” she said, feeling exactly as if she had been ambushed.

  She wished she could tell him. But she couldn’t. For Toadspit the world of Merne had passed like a dose of fever. He had come out of it a trained swordsman, and like Bonnie, he remembered everything that had happened there. But he didn’t have someone’s else’s life still stuck inside him, threatening to drive him mad.

  If she told him, he’d never trust her again.

  “Um—” she said. “Do you know the symptoms of plague?”

  “What?”

  “It’s just—we should know what to look out for. In case that rat was diseased.”

  Toadspit glared at her. “I thought we were friends. I thought, after everything that’s happened—”

  “Boils,” said Goldie desperately. “Don’t people get boils? In their armpits?”

  She could see the anger and disappointment on Toadspit’s face, and she thought he might walk away. Instead, he gritted his teeth and rattled out, “It’s not boils, it’s swellings. Buboes, they’re called. Neck, armpits, groin, that’s where you get them. You get a fever too, and vomiting, and according to Herro Dan you feel really tired and want to sleep a lot. Oh yes, and you get black patches on your skin, from the bleeding underneath. There, does that satisfy you?” He scowled. “I’m going to see if Sinew’s back yet.”

  “Wait!” Goldie called after him. “I’ll come with you. We need to ask him about the Treasury.”

  Sinew was back, but only just. He and Herro Dan had their heads together in the office. Mouse was listening to them, his small body tense and unhappy.

  “What’s the matter?” said Goldie. “What’s happened?”

  Sinew turned a bleak face toward her. “The mercenaries are grabbing children off the streets and putting them in the House of Repentance. Word is that it’s in retaliation for the thefts. The Fugleman doesn’t know who took the money, so he’s punishing the whole city.”

  In the back of Goldie’s mind, Frisia cursed and called for her sword—

  “This changes everything,” said Toadspit. “We’ll have to stop. No more Hidden Rock.”

  “What?” said Goldie, struggling to pull her thoughts together. “No!”

  Herro Dan cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “If we stop,” she said, “the Fugleman has won. He’ll be able to do anything he likes and no one will dare go against him, not ever! Don’t you see? We have to beat him!”

  “But what about the children?” said Toadspit. “The ones in the House of Repentance? What if something even worse happens to them because of us?”

  Goldie shook her head helplessly, wishing that there were no hard decisions to be made. “I don’t know. I just know that we have to make this third strike tonight.”

  With a sigh, Herro Dan sat down at the desk. “It’s a bad choice either way. Whatever we do, someone’s gunna suffer. But—” He smiled sadly at Goldie. “I agree with you, lass.”

  “You do?”

  The old man nodded. “The Fugleman’s half mad with power, and someone has to stop him. Reckon it’s up to us.”

  “All the same,” said Sinew, “Toadspit’s right. Innocent lives could be lost.”

  Innocent lives are the price of war, whispered Frisia in the back of Goldie’s mind. Battles are not won by soft hearts.

  But it seemed to Goldie that if she was willing to sacrifice other people to gain victory, she was no better than the Fugle man. “We’ll do our best to save them,” she said.

  And that seemed to satisfy both Sinew and Toadspit, for now, at least.

  Third strike

  Even in peaceful times, the Treasury was the most carefully guarded building in Jewel, with half a dozen militia stationed, day and night, outside its front doors. Now, of course, the militia were either dead or imprisoned, but the Treasury was watched more closely than ever.

  “We don’t want to go in blind,” Goldie said to Sinew. “Toadspit thought you might know where the vaults are. And the best way to get in.”

  Sinew pulled a thoughtful face. “Yes, we used to have the original plans for most of the public buildings in Jewel. Let 120

  me see, where did I put them . . . ?” He ran his fingers over his harp strings to help him think.

  “Aha!” he said a moment later, and he strode toward the kitchen, with the two children trotting behind him.

  The plans were sealed inside a breadbox, which was in turn stowed at the back of one of the kitchen cupboards between a sack of carrots and a cast iron mincer.

  “Perfect filing system!” said Sinew, emerging from the depths of the cupboard with a carrot in his top pocket. “I can find them, but no one else can.”

  He brushed the spiderwebs out of his hair and stripped the wax from the lid of the breadbox. “I’ve never actually used these,” he said, leafing through the plans until he found the ones he wanted. “But I keep them just in case. It can be amazingly useful to know where the bathroom is in a strange building.”

  His jokes couldn’t conceal the worry in his eyes. “Sinew, we’ll be all right,” said Toadspit.

  “Of course you will.” Sinew smiled. “I don’t doubt it for a moment.” And he unfolded the plans.

  Whoever had designed the Treasury, so long ago, had been very conscious of security. The stone walls were impossible to climb. The back door was so well barred from the inside that not even the cleverest thief could open it. There were no windows.

  “But,” said Sinew, “you know what Jewel is like in summer.

  Any place without windows would quickly turn into an oven. The builders realized this, even if the planners didn’t.”


  He ran a finger across the paper, following the faded lines of ink. “This is the roof that was supposed to be built. And this—” He touched a faint pencil line that made a series of notches in the ink. “This is what was built. See the hidden vents? They channel the air in and out of the building and make it one of the most pleasant places in the city.”

  Goldie stared at him. “You think we can get in through the vents? But won’t they be blocked?”

  “I don’t think so. You see, the men who built the Treasury were in a difficult position. At the time, the city was under the rule of the first Grand Protector, a stubborn and vindictive man. He ordered the builders to follow his plans exactly, for the sake of security. I gather they tried to explain about the need for some sort of air flow, but he wouldn’t listen. And so, for the sake of their own skins, they made their changes secretly, without telling a soul. The only evidence they left was a few pencil marks. And these plans—um— disappeared”—Sinew looked slightly embarrassed—“before anyone else could see them.”

  It was those faded pencil lines that Goldie thought of later that night as she and Toadspit crouched in the darkness.

  Across the road, four Blessed Guardians stood on one side of the Treasury portico, with the beginnings of a fog licking their ankles. On the other side of the portico stood four mercenaries. Two of each group surveyed the street, in the timehonored manner of those who guarded this important building. The others watched the group opposite. The tension between them was so strong that Goldie could almost touch it.

  Without a word, she and Toadspit retreated to the corner, where Morg was perched on their haversacks. They picked up the heavy bags and, with the slaughterbird flying ahead of them, slipped down the street that ran alongside the Treasury.

  Away from the portico, with its carved frieze, the Treasury was like a fortress. The fog was rising, and Goldie stared up at the forbidding walls, her blood alight with fear and excitement.

  “That’s where the ledge is, along there,” Toadspit whispered, pointing upward. He took a rope from his haversack, tied it to a small grappling iron and held it out to the slaughterbird. “Morg, remember what we practiced? Take this and hook it over the ledge. Make sure it’s nice and firm. We don’t want it to fall off when we’re halfway up.”